


One Rose

by Wystii



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-28
Updated: 2003-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 08:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wystii/pseuds/Wystii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set within the series, this is my attempt at a canon fic and a look at the motivations of Milliardo Peacecraft and Treize Khushrenada in the later part of the series.</p><p>Disclaimer: Characters are from Gundam Wing. I own nothing and there are no expectations of monetary profits from this venture.<br/>Warnings: Implied male/male relationships.<br/>Notes: lyrics in italics & [thoughts]</p><p>Credits:<br/>Inspired by:<br/>This Flower by Kasey Chambers and the closing image of Quo Vadis by SE Night.<br/>Special thanks to Marilyn for beta reading this fic, the encouragement, verification & sharing her dj scans with me.</p>
    </blockquote>





	One Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Set within the series, this is my attempt at a canon fic and a look at the motivations of Milliardo Peacecraft and Treize Khushrenada in the later part of the series.
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters are from Gundam Wing. I own nothing and there are no expectations of monetary profits from this venture.  
> Warnings: Implied male/male relationships.  
> Notes: lyrics in italics &amp; [thoughts]
> 
> Credits:  
> Inspired by:  
> This Flower by Kasey Chambers and the closing image of Quo Vadis by SE Night.  
> Special thanks to Marilyn for beta reading this fic, the encouragement, verification &amp; sharing her dj scans with me.

****

One Rose

Milliardo Peacecraft stares at the cup in his hands, listening to the White Fang representatives leave the cafe. It has long since stopped steaming. "I can't drink this," he mumbles softly to no one in particular and pays his bill.

The bell on the door of the cafe tinkles as he steps outside into the chilling wind, lost in thought. [Those colonial rebels want a leader, an earth-born Prince with a forsaken legacy of peace, to lead their war. How deliciously ironic.] A parody of a smile touches his lips. [It's a joke that deserves to be shared. There's only one man in all Earthsphere who will understand and appreciate it. The man who dedicated his life to my cause, only he can know what we've given up for it, what we've done in its name, what losses we've justified to achieve it.]

Slowly making his way out of town, the tall, blond prince sighs. [It was all for nothing. Cinq is lost, destroyed once again in a hail of fire; given away to preserve what little is left of its people. It is a nation no longer; it has no borders, there's nothing left to fight for. I will abide by Relena's decision. It is rightfully hers to make.] He looks up at the snow-laden clouds and the tight stretch of his lips becomes a genuine smile, lighting up his pale eyes. [It sets me free - free of the legacy of peace left to us by our father, free of the lost cause that was the reclamation of Cinq. I am free of this war, this fight-that-should-never-have-been for an heir to the Peacecraft throne. I gave up every claim I had to it when I took up arms and chose the way of the sword. Now that the Queen has made her declaration, I don't even have a country to fight for.] He sighs again, but this time his shoulders lift as they relax and anticipation lights his gaze. [We can share some wine and laugh at White Fang's ambitions.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A man in a long grey overcoat stops at the doorway of the library. Holding out a dark crimson rose, he says to the handsome man with a book in his hands, "I brought you a gift."

The book tumbles to the floor as a shocked sapphire gaze locks onto the visitor's apprehensive one. "Milliard..." Treize breathes the name, taking in the maskless face and the silvery mane.

"It's as red as the blood staining my soul," a subdued voice explains.

Stepping over the fallen book, Treize closes the distance between them. "My prodigal returns," he comments, smiling. "Thank you. It's a perfect gift, beautiful, rare - extremely rare at this time of year and under these harsh circumstances..." His eyes widen in surprise and wonder when his fingers wrap around the stem. "And thornless. You picked off all its thorns."

"All my thorns are gone, too," the errant lieutenant assures his general. "I'm sorry for being so prickly, lately," he apologises, his pale blue eyes large and unguarded. "Will you take me back?"

Treize releases the breath he hadn't realised he'd held. "I never let you go," he whispers, wrapping the taller man in his arms, the rose and his hands plunging in to tangle with platinum tresses. "I never let you go," he repeats directly into his lover's ear. Tilting the head in his grasp slightly, he presses his lips to smooth, warm skin just below Milliard's ear, along his jaw. He inhales a strong mix of damp wool and sweat. "Why are you wet?" he demands, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

"It's sleeting outside," Milliard replies with a relieved chuckle. "I couldn't exactly park Epyon in your courtyard."

"If I had known you were coming, I would have left the hanger doors open for you," Treize admonishes his second.

Milliard smiles. His tone is teasing when he says, "Did you think I wouldn't come to visit while in the neighbourhood?"

Eyes of sapphire regard the young prince for a long while. "If you had intended to visit, you would have been here yesterday, as soon as you realised the situation with Cinq," Treize points out, his voice dripping accusation. He adds quietly, "I waited for you," before claiming pale lips to stifle any response. "When you didn't come, I assumed you'd return to space. Since you have Epyon, I know that you met up with Heero." Releasing his errant lover, he goes to pick up his fallen book.

"We duelled to a standstill. Neither system could forecast a victory and shut down instead." Milliard sheds his damp overcoat and drapes it over the back of a chair. "It was most disconcerting."

"Then why aren't you returning to space?" Treize asks, putting the book back on the shelf.

"I had an epiphany over a cup of tea," Milliard explains, moving into the centre of the room. "It was rather cold and undrinkable tea, but I finally understood."

Treize turns and lifts an impressive forked eyebrow at that revelation. He pulls on a bell rope. "I'll call for some hot tea." He raises the thornless rose to his nose. Breathing deeply of its scent, he smiles. "Then you can share your insights with me."

Milliard's gaze is locked on the rose when he asks, "Does it please you?"

The butler stops at the doorway. "Sir?"

"Tea, please," Treize orders, his glance flicking quickly to the grey overcoat.

"Very well, Sir," the butler says with a slight bow. He retrieves the overcoat and closes the door on his way out.

"I remember what the first rose you ever gave me represented," Treize muses, looking out the large bay windows at the falling ice.

Milliard moulds himself to his old friend's back, hands resting on his slim hips, whispering in his ear, "Consider this another instalment."

Treize's answering smile is brilliant as he studies their reflection in the glass window. "Then I am well pleased with your gift."

"My soul is slightly more tarnished and worn than it used to be," Milliard admits; a deep sadness shows in the eyes of his reflection as he rests his chin on Treize's shoulder.

Reaching up to stroke platinum silk with his fingertips, Treize sighs and rubs his cheek against his lover's. "No more than mine is and it's infinitely more precious to me," he counters.

The soft knock on the door and the rattle of the tea tray behind them leaves them silent and still by the window, except for the gentle friction between their cheeks. They follow the sounds of the fireplace being stoked, leaning into each other, eyes closing until the loud click of the latch signals their solitude once more.

"Come sit with me," Treize says, leading his guest to the couch. "I feel a need to rumple your clothes and mess your hair, but first, tea."

Milliard softly chuckles as he allows himself to be arranged among the cushions to his lover's satisfaction.

Pouring the tea, Treize asks, "What changed your mind?"

"About?" Pale eyes follow supple hands through their tea serving ritual.

"Coming to see me. You mentioned an epiphany over a cold cup of tea," Treize prompts his distracted lieutenant.

"It's a rather funny tale..." Milliard pauses, looking at the fire, lost in thought.

Treize passes the cup and saucer to his guest. "Do share."

Stirring his drink, Milliard begins. "I was enjoying a surprisingly pleasant hot cup of tea when some men approached me with an outrageous proposal. By the time they were almost done, my tea was disgustingly cold. It occurred to me that my enthusiasm for this war was rather like my cup of tea, cold and undrinkable. I wondered how your tea was."

Treize pauses, the teapot hovering momentarily above the tray. "My tea-cup is empty," he says quietly before proceeding to pour his beverage.

Ice blue eyes narrow at the words and following action. "Aren't we a pair..." Milliard sighs, sipping his tea.

A tinkling sounds in the silent room as Treize stirs his drink. His fond gaze reinforces his slow, indulgent smile.

Encouraged, the prince continues. "Once I started thinking about you, I couldn't stop. There was nothing else I had to do, no where else I had to be, and their offer suddenly seemed absurdly funny when considered in the context of you and me."

"You're rhyming, Milliard," Treize points out, maintaining a strict facade, stifling the hysterical giggle that threatens to overwhelm him.

"It's a rather poetic joke," the younger man explains.

Treize blinks rapidly, breathing deeply to calm himself. "I see... You came all the way here to share it with me." He raises his cup to his lips.

"I did."

"You do realise that you don't need any excuse to come to me," Treize growls, a frown creasing his brow, all mirth dispelled by the sudden, sobering thought.

Milliard holds that dark sapphire gaze for only a moment before shifting to place his teacup on the table. "We've been dancing around so many people and issues for so long that I'm not sure if I could take a direct route between any two points anymore," he says, settling back against the cushions, his smile, a thin stretch of his lips, barely touching the longing in his eyes.

A second teacup slides into place beside the first as Treize makes his way to lean over the lounging form. "Mazes are immensely more exciting than straight paths and much more satisfying when successfully negotiated," he croons, smoothing a platinum fringe away from those wistful baby blues.

"I get lost a lot easier that you do," Milliard admits, sinking even further into the cushions at the soft touch on his face.

"That's why I built Epyon, you know," Treize informs the man purring under his ministrations.

The purring stops. "No, I don't," Epyon's pilot huffs. "I was lost, remember?" For a moment he sounds exactly like the cross little prince they both remember so fondly that they smile at each other.

"Precisely," Treize says with a firm nod. "It was to help me climb the hedges so that I could see which way to go from above the maze we'd made of our plans." He lowers his full length over the hard body of the warrior on his couch. "I was hoping also to see you."

Milliard's rumbling laughter vibrates through them both. "So that's how you used to find me when we played in your mother's garden. You cheated by climbing the hedges." His arms wrap around the slim waist, holding the older man tightly to him. "I should have guessed," he says, his hand cupping a taut buttock. "What did you see?"

"I couldn't find you, but I did see the way out," is the rather muffled reply as Treize buries his face into the crook of his lover's neck.

"Good." The relief is plain to hear in that single word. "I'm here now, we can leave together."

Treize heaves a long, drawn-out sigh, saying, "It's not as simple as all that." He looks up and kisses away the forming frown. "I want to hear your joke first."

"There were troops on the Libra who were loyal to you, apparently. Outraged at the attack on Luxembourg, they threw in their lot with the colonial rebels and staged a small coup to steal the craft from OZ. They call themselves, 'White Fang'."

"That's not the slightest bit funny," Treize comments, his tone cold.

"I haven't reached the punch-line, yet," Milliard grumbles. "My tea grew cold while they offered me leadership of their rebellion in a small cafe in what used to be Cinq," he concludes with a disdainful sniff.

Lifting his head, Treize stares in shocked amazement at his lieutenant. The ramifications of such an offer and its possible consequences batter against the inside of his skull and he snorts as the punch line clicks into place. He throws back his head and laughs, great heaving guffaws, collapsing helpless against the chuckling form of the younger man. It's a long while before he manages to subside enough to say, "That is very poetically funny."

Milliard nods, his wide grin dredging up his long lost boyish charm. "I could think of no one else on Earth or the colonies, for that matter, who would understand it."

"No one else truly knows why we..." Treize merely shakes his head, not willing to give voice to that which has never been explicitly stated between them. He pushes himself upright, reaching for his abandoned cup of tea. The taste of tepid tea in his mouth brings the earlier analogy back to mind and he grimaces.

"I remember thinking that using fire to fight fire only leaves the victor with ashes," Milliard comments, standing up and strolling to the decanter of wine on the sideboard. "That without an adequate firebreak, the burning won't stop until there's nothing left."

"Exactly," Treize agrees as he rearranges the cushions on the couch and settles back comfortably among them.

Pouring two glasses of wine, Milliard says, "That's when I had my epiphany." He hands one over the back of the couch before walking around to sit in the space left for him by Treize's hip. "My last battle for OZ in Antarctica was your firebreak, wasn't it? It was meant to stop the flames we'd fanned into an inferno."

"Among other things," Treize admits, as he sips his wine.

"Other things?" Milliard prompts, mirroring the reclining man's actions.

"I'd missed you." A gentle hand caresses a pale, exposed cheek. "I wanted you, my Prince, back with me and realised after Cinq's liberation that it was an impossibility as long as Zechs Merquise, the soldier, lived."

"You wanted to break the mask..."

Treize retrieves the glass from lifeless fingers and carefully sets them both down on the floor. "Did I succeed?" he asks, gathering the trembling blond into his arms.

"Yes, the battle broke the mask. It almost broke me, but it was all for nothing." Milliard's breath hitches in his chest. "It was too late, wasn't it? The flames had already jumped the break." His head is firmly nestled into Treize's shoulder as they rock together slowly.

"The mobile dolls were a development unaccounted for in our original plans..." The master strategist warms to his explanation. "The war escaped our control when they became a factor. It occurred to me then that your sacrifice would be for nothing, but the exercise had already begun." He leans back into the cushions again, pulling the man in his arms into his lap. Feeling no resistance to the move, he continues. "I do apologise for that slight miscalculation."

Pale brows furrow in confusion. "Why are you apologising now?"

Treize counters with another question. "Would you have been receptive to an apology before your epiphany?"

"No." A ghost of a smile touches Milliard's lips. "I was so angry, betrayed when they wouldn't stop hounding me, both in the air and under the ice... then the mask broke... You know me too well."

"You gave me your soul..." Treize presses his mouth to the top of the platinum head. "It allows my heart a certain insight and hope that I only had to wait long enough... When I couldn't see you in Epyon's predictions, only then did I wonder if I might have miscalculated again."

"What do you mean?"

Treize tightens his embrace around his younger lover. "I despaired of your return when I gave Heero Epyon. I saw my death at his hands as a means to stop the fighting."

"I didn't..." Milliard's breath hitches. "I did what I could in space..." His voice breaks as he speaks. "I tried..."

"Hush, I know you tried." Rubbing small circles on the distraught man's back, Treize wraps his legs around slim hips. "Luxembourg could have been so much worse. Epyon's solution to ending this war seemed so clear at the time, so obvious..." He trails off, unwilling to elaborate on his past misconceptions.

Milliard struggles to raise his head off the broad chest to look into his lover's eyes. "Treize?"

"Heero saw something else entirely," Epyon's creator admits as he slowly unwraps his limbs from around the blond. "Your shirt is rumpled enough," he says, pushing the other man upright. "It's time we shed all these outer layers, don't you think?"

Smiling, Milliard stands as his white shirt flutters to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Later, much later, as they lie in a sated tangle of limbs on silk sheets, Treize finger-combs sweat-damp, platinum tresses. He savours the moment of lethargic contentment this simple action always brings him. [It's the simple things that make life worth living,] he reminds himself before breaking the silence. "Milliard, as Epyon's pilot, there is something you have to understand." He feels rather than hears the replying grunt by the breath on his chest. "I created the weapon and I've had time to think about this," he ploughs on. "It offers no solutions. Never forget that." Stroking the back of his lover's neck, he waits for the slight nod before continuing. "It merely affirms what you already know and want, whether you've consciously acknowledged it or not, and by doing so eliminates all doubts. But... but it does so at such a speed that your conscience doesn't have a chance to react. Know that any solution it has to offer originates from a desire in your psyche and nowhere else. It's as fallible as you are, as I am. I know you love me, but do you trust me, still?"

"With my life and my soul."

"What about with mine?" Treize asks, his heart pounding in his chest. "With the lives of billions on Earth and the colonies?"

Milliard hesitates, hearing the staccato beat under his ear. "Yes," he says softly.

"Are you sure?" Treize presses the pilot. "You can have no doubts before you even consider piloting Epyon again. You must be wholly given to our cause."

Frowning, Milliard lifts his head and turns to look at his lover, best friend... general. "Why are you even asking me this?"

"We are the only ones who can truly stop this war," Treize explains, pulling the blond up to lie on the pillow beside him. Face to face, he watches the changing expressions and waits while the blond processes his statement. He snakes one hand under the pliant body to place it firmly in the small of Milliard's back while he rests the other on his hip.

"The Gundam pilots..."

"Are children," Treize cuts off that argument before it can form. "Heero will fight until there is no one left living on the battlefield. With the weapons now in play, there will be no one left living anywhere when the smoke clears. I saw what he did when he fought to defend me with Epyon. Without a clear enemy, he turns on his own. His solutions know neither friend nor foe."

"The others..."

Again, Treize interrupts with his counter reasoning. "The pilot of Gundam02 refers to himself as the 'God of Death'. Whom will he leave alive in his wake?" he asks with a pat on a bare buttock for emphasis. "The pilot of Gundam04, creator of Wing Zero, has already destroyed whole colonies and fired on his own comrade in his insanity." He delivers another meaningful pat to drive his second point home. "And Wufei, honourable though he is, screams for justice. Justice is blind, Milliard." This time he merely rubs soothing circles on the smooth bottom as he lets his words sink in. "There will be no salvation from that quarter. They are soldiers, terrorists, fighting a war they can't hope to win. Bright, brave spirits that they are, how long do you think they will last against soulless dolls from both sides?" Deep blue sapphire eyes implore their icy counterpart's understanding. "How long before all their good intentions become ambiguous as they play one side against the other?" His gaze is drawn to pale parting lips and the slow swallow travelling down an elegant throat. "How long did we last before all the good we were trying to achieve left a foul taste in our mouths?" With Milliard's sympathetic sigh, he continues. "Relena's peace won't have a chance without a united and overwhelming desire for it. That desire can only be born of despair, such despair as neither Earth nor the colonies have ever known before. Only then will they consider the alternatives."

Milliard shivers in Treize's arms as their eyes meet, again. Then their lips touch and they cling to each other, bodies pressed together in a valiant effort to meld into a single whole.

"Will you follow me out of this maze we've created?" Treize asks when they part.

"I will follow you into the fires of hell," Milliard whispers, their lips brushing with each movement, their breaths mingling.

"And I will take us there. Don't doubt that I will," Treize assures his lover. "Do you still want to come?"

Pale blue eyes dilate until, like an eclipse, only silver rings surround shadowed pupils. A thick, heavy silence hangs, tangible, between them for a long while. Milliard nods.

Treize releases his held breath. "This war won't end until victory becomes impossible. When everyone is faced with a future so bleak, so devastating should this war continue... Only in such despair will a true desire for peace prevail. Only then can your father's, and now Relena's, vision of peace be achieved."

Turning his face into Treize's shoulder, Milliard tightens his embrace until there is, once again, no space between them.

"At first, I thought - rather conceitedly - that my death might achieve this. Now I realise that it wouldn't be enough. Millions of innocents might have to die to achieve what is needed."

"Millions..." Milliard stifles a shudder. "Your death... Was that your desired escape?"

"When I despaired of you ever returning to me, Epyon predicted so," Treize admits.

"I'm here now, we are together once more. That changes everything!" Milliard's cry is muffled against Treize's skin.

"Yes, it does." Long steady strokes soothe a trembling back.

"I suppose I should be grateful to White Fang," Milliard says quietly as he calms.

"How so?"

"If they hadn't approached me, I wouldn't be here today," the blond explains. "Perhaps in a week or a month or even a year... I would have come eventually, but not today. I doubt if I would have had my epiphany today if they hadn't been so fanatically earnest."

"Then they will be our weapon of choice to end this war and escape this maze," Treize decides. "You and I, my love, will fan these errant flames until they burn in a conflagration of our choosing."

"Fighting fire with fire only leaves the victor with ashes..." Milliard repeats his earlier thoughts. "You want to rub their noses in those ashes, don't you?"

"Precisely," Treize agrees. "Neither the powerful men playing with mobile dolls nor the rebels fighting for freedom can see where this war is going. It's up to us to wake them up and make them smell the ashes of their trophy."

"I could wish to end my days in your arms." There is a wistful tone in the voicing of those words.

"And you will," comes the assurance as Treize buries his nose in strands of platinum silk, "but first, we have to stroll through hell before we can get to heaven."

Milliard sighs. "We'll need a lot of ashes."

"Millions will have to be sacrificed to save the billions left. Do you think anything less will convince them?"

"No, nothing less."

"Do you have it in you to make them stop and think?" Treize asks Prince Milliardo Peacecraft.

"Will it be enough?" The question is so softly asked it is almost unheard.

"Of course not," is Treize's answer. "However, with me under house arrest, you are the greatest commander of men the Earth and the colonies have. If your course is set on destruction, who can stop you?"

A single tear escapes tightly closed lids as Milliard whispers, "Only you."

"And when I fail them?" Treize continues the relentless questioning. "When I perish in battle beyond all hope of rallying my troops, what then?"

"They will smell the charred remains of their future," comes the inevitable conclusion.

"They will see it, feel it and taste it, too. They will hear its silence and then... they will come to their senses."

There is nothing left to be said as they lose themselves in the taste, feel and scent of each other, storing up the memories for what they know must come next. A pale dawn light reflects off the snow into the bedroom window by the time they succumb to utter exhaustion and drift off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" Milliard asks with an exaggerated sigh over breakfast. "We didn't have to conquer the world to reclaim Cinq."

"Could we have reclaimed it without being in position to defeat the Federated Alliance?" Treize counters, tapping the hairbrush on a broad grey-clad shoulder.

"Look what's become of that scheme..." There is only the slightest whine in the blond's tone.

The redhead chuckles, moving around to straddle Milliard's legs. Lifting an obstinate chin with gentle fingers, Treize leans down and rubs their aristocratic noses together. "It's a fiery conflagration that only we can blow out," he reminds his prince, settling down on the most capable lap to kiss all doubts away. "Afterwards, only afterwards can we retire to a quiet country estate."

Wet lashes lift to reveal the bluest of blue gazes as pale lips stretch in the saddest of smiles. "I'd prefer a small cottage with a rose garden," Milliard murmurs, blinking and holding in his unshed tears.

"The summer house then. The one you're so fond of in the Alps. If all goes to plan, I'll be exiting stage left first. I will meet you there."

The smile becomes more genuine, more hopeful. "I'll look forward to it," the soon-to-be-leader of White Fang says as he sobers. "You'd better be there or my soul will be lost."

"I'll be waiting."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The explosion shakes the entire structure of Libra. In the mobile doll control room, Dorothy opens her eyes, sniffs the air and shrugs. It had been too much to hope for a glorious end in battle. "If wishes came true," she mutters aloud to the dying ship "you and I wouldn't still be lingering like a bad smell." There is an odd scent in the thin air, wrinkling her nose, she reaches out and grabs the helmet floating nearby. "Might as well see if there's a working shuttle somewhere on this wreck," she grumbles, putting it on.

Moving down seemingly endless corridors towards the shuttle bays, Dorothy finds herself in darkness when the remaining systems of the craft fail. She is almost at the docks when her helmet's lights reveal something large, red and charred. Her heart stops as she stares at the lifeless bulk of what could only be the torso of Epyon and the spacesuited figure struggling to pry the cockpit hatch open. [Treize!] her mind screams as she recognises the markings on the helmet. [I'm not alone...]

****

The End


End file.
